


Stay Awhile

by poodled



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: AU, Fluff, Gangs, Humor, M/M, Slow Burn, klance, long chapters, not tooth rotting fluff I hate that stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 03:51:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12290619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poodled/pseuds/poodled
Summary: Keith is on the run, having been played into lighting the spark of the city gang war. He only has one address to turn to, but it's a different house that he knocks at.Comedy and mild fluff but I already know where this is headed so ... possible angst. I'll try my hardest not to kill anyone but no promises.





	Stay Awhile

* * *

 

It was just one hour into the new week, and Keith was on the run yet again.

This time was different though. He'd had the route mapped out in his head for a while now, not like the other spur of the moment decisions. Three fences along Portrow Street, hurdle the gate on the corner, across the park and then it was a home run – once he'd got his wheels at least. With any luck, the padlock securing it wasn't as crappy as the packaging suggested, and with even greater luck no-one might even have stumbled upon the motorbike in the first place – though to hope for that much felt like asking for a jinxing.

As Keith sprinted through the skirts of the terraced back alleys, he darted a weathered eye around for security cameras. Though he doubted there would be many on the crusty outskirts of a residential block, he couldn't afford to take any chances with this. It had to be flawless, it had to be fast, and it had to be tonight.

Once he'd rounded the corner, jumping the _'Beware the dog'_ tatted gate with deft and practised motion, he lighted on the nearest wall and made his way over to it, ducking instinctively as he checked for CCTV. At this point sweat had even began to gather on the back of his hands, and he allowed himself a moment's reprieve as he slipped down the wall. His maroon hoodie snagged on the cracks in the brickwork, hitching up slightly and revealing the pale skin of the owner, which was made even whiter in the deathly moonlight. Keith could see his hands shaking as he fumbled through the passcode on his phone, and he let out a frustrated snarl that almost timed him out of the device.

"Pick up ... pick _up ..._ " he growled under his breath, clawing through the logs of his call history, scrolling even into the previous week before scrambling back up to the top again.

A string of nonsensical curses left his lips as he began punching numbers into the dial menu. The painfully drawn out tolls of the held line brought Keith to his feet, and with a final look in either direction, he was back on the road once again.

With the phone still clutched to his ear, he tore across another housing lot, the playing fields now eye-level to him. _Beep_ ... _beep_ ... the ringing couldn't hang out for much longer before the answering machine kicked in, but he only grasped it tighter, knotting that faint hope up into the pit of his tangled stomach. A single strip of open road passed between Keith and the park now. It wouldn't be long until –

"Hey there! You've reached the answering machine of _Takashi Shirogane._ Please leave a message after the-"

" _GOD FUCKING DAMN IT!_ "

Pain erupted through the seams of his left hand side, and a second howl tore from him that flung the city birds from their drainpipes. He'd rammed straight into the grill of a parked car in just one second of distraction. The deafening blares of a quick-tempered car alarm were already roaring in his ears, and he reeled away, hacking up his lungs and spewing swearwords across the pavement. His thoughts lurched about his head as his feet did through the swirling grass of the park, though one thought remained a steady beacon amongst the others.

 _'If I ever lay eyes on Shiro again,'_ Keith thought, a twisted grin splintering at the corners of his face, ' _I'll beat him 'til his body's as fucked up as his hairdo.'_

***

" _Hunk_! We ran out of milk again!"

The slamming shut of a fridge door followed by an exaggerated sigh marked another late night in the shared abode of Hunk Garrett and Lance McClain.

"Why are you telling me this now?" came a hollered reply.

"Uh, because we have a rota and _you're_ the one on groceries this week? Why else?" said Lance, combing back his hair in an opportune reflection in the dishwasher.

After a creaky patter of footsteps resounded down the staircase, a distinctly disgruntled looking teenager poked his head around the doorframe to the kitchen and fixed his roommate with the stink-eye.

"What I actually meant was, 'why are you telling me this fact at _one in the morning,_ when we have an assignment due for tomorrow that you've _already said_ you've only half completed'?"

Lance shrugged, waving a lazy hand at the idea.

" _Relax_ buddy, sometimes you've just got to take these things as they come," he said breezily. "I'm just waiting for a moment of inspiration and then _boom,_ before you know it, that two-thousand word analysis will have written itself. It's just one of those things that you really have to _feel_ , y'know?"

Hunk frowned.

"No," he said, "No I do not know. I don't think you know either, and I think that's why you're going through our food supplies at one in the morning looking for milk. What were you even going to do with the milk once you found it?"

Lance thought for a second.

"... Have some cereal?" He instantly took offense at the expression that presented itself on his friend's face. "Oh come on, Hunk! It _is_ technically morning, and you always say that breakfast is the most important meal of the day!"

Hunk took his head out of a weary face palm to face the monster in front of him.

"Yeah, _'meal',_ singular _;_ Lance, this is why we never have any milk – because every day you have at least three bowls of honey hoops for breakfast and somehow thinks it constitutes as nourishment. This stuff is just sugared cardboard! Cardboard! With sugar! The sugar is on the cardboard! Sometimes I think there is no cardboard at all and it's just the sugar on its own, or sometimes it's a hybrid of the two, like sugar paper or something!"

At this point he grabbed a box of the honey hoops in question and began shaking it like a maraca of justice.

"I mean, I'm meant to be the one with the comfort-eating issues here, but at least when I'm rustling around in the refrigerator late at night, I'm actually putting something you can call food into my mouth! You're like those people who eat ice – I mean, is this really what the peak of thousands of years of evolution and natural selection looks like? That we eat things that won't fill us in any way, won't quench us through the sheer energy it takes to melt it in the first place, but don't even taste of anything so you can't say it's done out of an appreciation for the flavour? Maybe I can understand the thought process on a hot summer's day, but there are members of society who continue this habit through all the four seasons – and God forbid those who _crunch_ the ice before they -"

This passionate exhibition of inner turmoil and angst was, though beautiful, also uncalled for. Lance placed a firm hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Dude. There is nothing wrong with someone just wanting to have a little alone time with some ice. I'm gonna need you to lay easy about this one."

Hunk opened his mouth again, looking as though he was about to say something, but decided against it. He gave a forlorn nod, gripping Lance's hand with his own, which was about three times the size.

"I respect that this is a controversial topic and am thus not going to put myself in the line of fire on this particular occasion, however please note that I have strong opinions on this subject that have to be constantly repressed in order for society to continue to function the way it does today."

"You're a good man," said Lance, patting him on the back.

Hunk wiped away a tear.

"I'm still not buying you anymore milk," he said.

Lance's expression soured.

"I take it back," he muttered. "All of it. You're a horrible human being and an atrocious roommate."

No sooner had Hunk formulated a retort to fire back at him, when a series of pounds sounded at the door, each in alarmingly quick succession. Both he and Lance eyed each other, then the corridor, and then each other. It was one in the morning and someone was knocking at the door. At the door. _Their_ door.

"Hunk," uttered Lance, making sure to articulate every syllable of what he was trying to say, "Go check the window."

Hunk shot him a look of wide-eyed horror and accusation.

" _Me?_ " he whispered back, "Why me?! You're closer to the window!"

"It's payback for the milk," Lance said through his teeth, "And if you check the window, then _I'll_ answer the door. Capiche?"

Hunk stared at him as he weighed up his options, his pupils seeming to tremble within the very whites of his eyes. After what seemed like an eternity had passed, and the knocking was still ongoing, he gave Lance the shakiest thumbs up he'd ever seen.

"Cat peach," he said, but Lance could barely be asked to correct him over the hammering of his own heartbeat, almost in synch with that of the door.

The air in the room somehow went stagnant, even with the boys being unable to keep up with their hurtling thought processes. Gingerly, as though laced with pins and needles, Hunk pinched the corner of the curtain and ever so slightly shifted it to the side. The clock chimed half past one. A little light on the microwave that Lance hadn't even noticed existed until now suddenly seemed far too bright. Hunk's eyes pooled.

"It's, uh ... it's Keith."

 

***

 

Instantly, Lance barged through the poky kitchen doorframe, sending the coats and jackets up in a flurry on their pegs, and marched straight up to the door.

"What the _hell_ is Keith doing knocking on our door at one in the morning?" Lance exclaimed, not quite angry but already very animated.

"I don't think he even goes to our campus anymore," said Hunk. "Does he go to our campus anymore? Is that someone else? I thought he got dropped?"

"He _did_ , but it's not like him or his stupid mullet had any reason to knock at our door in the first place. Does he have _any_ concept of what time is, or how it works for the rest of the world?"

"It's not like he was interrupting anything, Lance, we hadn't even gone to bed yet," Hunk said, already trying to defuse the situation when they hadn't even opened the door yet.

Lance huffed, clearly of the opinion that that was _not_ the point. Nonetheless, he twisted the keys round in the lock, and threw open the door with a flourish.

"Well if it isn't Keith Kogane himself," he declared loudly, "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

There stood in the doorway, dark hair fringing his dark eyes, an oversized faded hoodie pulled over his head to hide his dated hairstyle, a red motorcycle pulled up on the kerb outside and two suitcases looking like they were fit to burst trailing behind him was, indeed, Keith Kogane. His eyes narrowed in confusion.

"Do I ... do I know you or something?" he asked, sounding genuinely bemused.

Lance's eyebrows all but leapt off his face.

"Um, _yes_?" he said, clearly insulted, his arms now crossed across his chest. "We were at the same campus! You know ... Lance? Lance McClain? The one and only?"

Keith's furrowed brows relaxed slightly as this seemed to ring a bell, but he peered further into the doorway.

"Wait ... then where's Shiro? Does he live with you or something?"

Hunk and Lance shared a look.

"There's no-one called Shiro living here," said Hunk. "Not even on our street, as far as I'm aware."

Keith worried at his lower lip, unscrambling a piece of torn paper from one of his pockets. He raked over it several times.

"Are ... are you sure?" he tried desperately. "His full name is Takashi Shirogane."

"Yeah, well, I'm pretty sure we'd have noticed if there was a random stranger just bunking here with us. You've obviously messed up the address," snapped Lance, turning as if to head back in.

Hunk glared at him, jabbing him in the ribs behind Keith's line of vision.

"Lance, _behave_ ," he hissed to him. Turning back to Keith, he offered, "You can come inside if you'd like; we'll have a city address book lying around in here somewhere, you could look up his address in that."

Keith shook his head, not returning the smile that Hunk tendered to him.

"If Shiro's not here, then I'll just leave. I don't have the liberty of time right now," he said with a note of finality, already gathering up his bags. "Uh... thanks anyway," he added, almost like an afterthought.

"Woah, woah, _woah_ – you can't just leave!" said Lance, eyes boggling.

The boy glowered back over his shoulder.

"Pretty sure I can, actually. What's it to you?"

Lance began to splutter, his arms raised in outrage.

"It's one in the morning! You can't just get people up at that time for no reason and just walk away with no explanation – it's basically social harassment!" he cried.

Keith looked almost amused by this, but he turned around and began walking away again

"What are you gonna do then. Report me?" he said.

He kept walking, and Lance had half a mind to go out there and drag him back in. This was his one opportunity to get even with the college dropout, to find out what his deal was in the first place. He couldn't just let him slip away like this when his curiosity was as piqued as it was now – what was he doing with that motorbike, with those suitcases, at one in the morning, knocking on their door for a guy called ' _Shiro'_? Come to think of it, the whole scenario seemed a little _off_ ... Keith looked like the very embodiment of insomnia itself. Lance's eyebrows knitted together, and he began ticking off his fingers. No sleep ... packed luggage ... one in the morning ... as well as a motorbike? To him, it seemed like the guy was –

"-On the run?"

Keith stopped dead in his tracks. The hairs on the back of his neck were prickling, despite them being sheltered from the night air by a hood.

"What did you just say?" he said slowly, tilting his head back to pinpoint Lance out of the corner of his eye.

"Wait, are you serious? I mean, obviously I'd have no grounds to report you on before, but _now_... you know, I think the police take missing persons cases _pretty_ seriously nowadays, right Hunk? _Especially_ when involving a minor ..." Lance's fingers started locking together mechanically, a devilish grin crumpling across his face. "Oh, dear sweet Keith ... where did it go so wrong?"

"Who ... who said anything about running away?" Keith laughed forcibly, his knuckles almost popping out of his skin as he gripped onto the handle of his suitcase. He tried to spur his legs into action again, but Lance's words had tethered them to the ground.

"You did. You're an awful liar, and that's coming from me," said Lance. Hunk nodded reluctantly.

The laughter died as quickly as it came, leaving but the ghost of a smile on Keith's face. He wheeled around at last, looking the pair up and down. A resigned sigh fluttered the mop of fringe settled over his face. He looked between the two of them with open, earnest eyes.

"This is – this is... look, you seem like alright people, okay? Most of that 'alright' is you, big guy, but still ... _trust_ me. You do not want to get involved in this. You can just ... you can just walk away. You don't need to get involved in anything - just pretend I was never here, and let me go. Does that sound like an okay deal to you? Nothing that I'm saying sound too difficult?"

He stuffed his hands into his pockets and bowed his head. A pigeon hooted drowsily overhead.

"I ... well, maybe I'll see you around sometime. Probably not," he said wearily. He stifled a yawn before continuing. "Sorry for waking you up."

A moment of silence washed over them. No-one moved or spoke. The porch light flickered as two moths danced about it. Then, just as Keith readied his suitcases:

"Nope."

Lance folded his arms again and shook his head mulishly.

"What ... What is _that_ meant to mean?" Keith said, looking completely and utterly lost.

"It means no. You're coming in, whether you like it or not." Lance paused, and softened his tone a little before he spoke again. "Look, you don't have to tell us _anything_ you don't want to. Frankly I don't care. But at least just have some coffee or something. I'm pretty sure a murder case is more serious than a missing persons, and you look like you're on the verge of death. Won't look good for us if you ... you know, just collapse on our doorstep in the middle of the night."

Keith hesitated. The two dozen unreturned calls had eaten up most of his data for the month. He really needed to switch to unlimited. He fiddled with the broken zip on his hoodie.

"Hunk, do you think you could brew us some coffee real quick?" Lance asked, taking advantage of Keith's uncertainty.

Hunk patted him on the back as affirmation, already heading back inside. Stepping forward, Lance grabbed hold of one of Keith's suitcases and, ignoring his cry of indignation, began trundling it into the house.

"Take your shoes off before you come in, mullet; they look like they're about to spontaneously combust."

***

The living room definitely had a theme to it. Various constellations patterned the blue wallpaper, there was a LEGO rocket ship balanced on top of the bookcase, toy UFOs dangled from the light bulb and there was a massive NASA pin-up girl plastered over one of the walls. Keith drew a sip from his coffee mug as he took it all in. It was wonderfully flavoursome, despite the fact he'd spied the walmart-branded sachet beforehand.

"Hunk got décor rights to the kitchen, and mine were to the living room," said Lance, clearly basking in how brazenly he'd managed to display his interests in such an enclosed area. "Cool, huh? Not that you'd be able to _truly_ appreciate the art of it anyway."

"I mean ... I think aliens are pretty great," said Keith, "I like the little UFOs."

Lance laughed.

"Yeah, I attached them to the oven fan in the kitchen once and Hunk screamed so hard he actually busted his tonsils. He made me pay for the hospital fees, but he had to speak in mimes for the rest of the month so it was totally worth it. You should've seen the one for him trying to explain that he accidentally took laxatives instead of paracetamol for his prescription... actually, I think I've got the video on my phone. Wanna see?"

Keith shrugged offhandedly, but leaned in closer with his undivided attention once Lance got the video playing. It was like strange interpretive dance. Interpretive dance was strange enough already, but this video was something else.

"Lance!" gasped Hunk, appearing out of nowhere and plucking the phone from Lance's hands before it got to the end, "You told me you'd deleted it three months ago! You swore on your abuela's grave!"

"That was before she cut my allowance in half," said Lance, surprisingly compliant with Hunk rummaging through his videos.

A quiet _ding_ declared that the video had been erased at last, three months behind schedule. Hunk handed him back the phone, pouting with all his might, before leaving the room again.

"You just let him delete it?" said Keith, unable to help himself, "Wasn't that thing like a blackmail goldmine?"

Lance tapped the side of his nose, giving Keith a knowing look. He opened up his contacts and scrolled down until he stopped at the contact stored under ' _Pidge da Hacker_ '.

"I forwarded it to her the moment I'd finished recording," he said to Keith, "If it hasn't already circulated through the entire campus, then I'll disown her and her entire family tree."

He considered this for a moment.

"Well. Maybe not her _entire_ family tree. Matt's still a cool guy," he said.

They quickly exhausted the list of common interests that conversation could sprout from, mostly from a lack of effort on Keith's side. He could feel his eyelids drooping already, with the squashy cushions swallowing him up and the warm heat enveloping him from all around. The UFOs cast strange, intricate shadows across the wall, and he let his eyes trail the curves and recedes of the outlines, his head beginning to nod. A faint tune that he couldn't quite place started tinkling in the back of his head. For the first time in a while he felt ... safe. Warm.

Lance gave an audible sigh, quickly snapping him out of it. He blinked, a little shaken at the sound.

"Guess I'll go get some blankets then ..." he muttered, extracting himself from the sofa.

Keith squinted groggily at Lance as he left the room, trying to piece together what he meant by that. By the time he had worked it out, Lance was already back, armed with at least three massive duvets and four odd pillows. He looked quite pleased with himself.

"I didn't realise we had so many spare! I didn't know which design you might like best though, so I just ended up bringing them all," he said with a grin. He flopped down next to Keith.

"So .. wait, wait," said Keith, furiously trying to keep up with this chain of events, "You ... You want me to sleep here?"

"Is the sofa okay? Sorry, we don't really have any other rooms available, let alone beds. I could have sworn we had an actual sleeping bag, but I couldn't find it anywhere," Lance said, starting to ramble on.

"Th-That's beside the point!" Keith stammered. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to think straight, but fatigue was beginning to cloud his judgement. "I ... I don't know you guys at all, and you don't know me either. I don't think I could just ... spend the night like that."

"But ... where else would you go?" said Lance quietly.

Keith didn't reply. He didn't have a credit card, or enough money to rent a room. Shiro wasn't picking up; he'd gotten the wrong address in the first place. It was now two in the morning and he hadn't anyone else to turn to in the whole city. And at this point, going 'back' was not an option. This sofa was the one thing saving him from the street right now.

"It's not a big deal, 'kay," he continued, "I mean, we're all college kids here; we gotta look out for one another. It's kind of exciting too, right? You're crashing with some people you've never really met before, but they just happen to be some of the kindest, most generous and most amazing people in the world! Sounds like fate if you ask me. Maybe you should be thanking me right now. Maybe you should be _grovelling_ for this offer, on your hands and knees and everything."

"You uh ... you want me on my hands and knees for someone I've never met before?" Keith said, raising an eyebrow in suspicion.

A beat passed with dead silence, and then Lance immediately broke into hysterics. His laughter rang out through the house, bringing Hunk downstairs to find out what on earth was going on. Between fits of giggles Lance re-enacted the scene, and Hunk doubled up at it as well.

"Dude!" Hunk said, "Was that a joke? You can joke now?"

All the sudden attention flushed Keith's cheeks hot red. He scratched the back of his neck, unsure what quite to say. He wasn't used to this ... kind of thing. Laughter was a bit unnerving. It wasn't even that funny in the first place.

Eventually, the noise died down and Hunk and Lance wiped away the last of their tears, though Lance's signature shit-eating grin was still spread wide and toothy across his face.

"Sorry man, I just ... wasn't expecting that. Not from you, at least." Lance allowed himself a final laugh. "You got your PJs in one of those suitcases?"

A curt nod.

"There's a washroom down the hallway if you want to get changed in there ... me and Hunk are gonna call it a night now though, so you're fine getting changed in here ... are you okay for everything else? You know where everything is?"

Another nod.

"You think you'll be able to get some sleep then?" he asked.

His tone was completely different to before he let Keith in. It was a lot milder, and he no longer had his arms crossed over his chest. Keith had no idea what to do with this information. They were both exhausted after all.

"I don't think I'll be able to wake up," said Keith. Lance gave another laugh, though this was a genuine concern on Keith's part. The sheets were disturbingly soft. He didn't trust them.

"We'll see you in the morning, Keith. Try not to break anything," said Hunk, and with that he was lumbering up the creaky stairs for about the fifth time that night.

Just as Lance turned to leave as well, Keith cleared his throat to speak.

"Thanks," he said abruptly. Lance looked at him patiently, waiting for him to elaborate. "Uh ... a lot. Thanks a lot. For ... y'know. Letting me crash. Not everyone would help a guy out like that. In fact, most people wouldn't. I mean, I am essentially homeless. Not forever! Uh ... I just need to sort some things out and ... get a home. I think. I don't know ... uh ..."

His entire face had gone up in flames. _This_ was why he hated talking to people. He just never felt like he was on the same wavelength as everyone else. Thanking people was the _worst_ of the worst, though. It always ended up coming back to him, and he hated being on the receiving end of a conversation most of all. He didn't dare look up at Lance. A few moments passed as Keith tried to stumble to a natural close.

"Hmm."

Keith glanced up under the lids of his eyes. Lance was looking at him thoughtfully. He scratched his chin a bit, rested his hand on his waist and then smiled.

"You're alright. For a mullet, at least."

The door floated shut behind him, and Keith was left bathed in the cerulean light of Lance's favourite lava lamp.

* * *

         

**Author's Note:**

> It's been about sixty years since I last wrote a fanfic so that amounts to some sort of an excuse :)


End file.
